


This Is How...

by Butterfly



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-02
Updated: 2004-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean tries to boil it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How...

There are a million and a half things that I could say about Elijah Wood. I could probably talk from here 'til eternity and never run out. There are so many wonderful descriptive words out there... and not one of them can ever truly capture him. I could talk about his eyes - oh, his impossibly expressive eyes that could tear any promise from me with just one simple look, that can make the entire world shake with their soft glimmering promises. I could speak for hours on his skin - bitten and rough at his fingertips, yet porcelain and perfect, soft and smooth as warm wax over the firmness of his muscles and bones. And his hair shines mahogany on ebony in the right light.

All of that beauty and grace, yet the most amazing thing about him is his mind - ever active, like a bird that can't rest for more than a moment at a time, and yet, when it's needed, he can focus more strongly than anyone I've seen, push himself so deeply into studying something or _being_ something that I'm terrified he'll lose himself. But he always comes back, and smiles questioningly at me, as if asking me what's wrong, asking me why in the world I would worry.

He doesn't eat right, doesn't take care of himself, sometimes loses track of where things are and where he is - Frodo in more than just appearance. And whenever I pick up the pieces for him, his eyes sparkle at me and my skin heats up. He doesn't often say, "Thank you," but he doesn't ever need to - it's all in his eyes, his casual touches, and his warm smiles. And they add up, building a foundation in my heart - one that could stand up to a tornado or an army.

When I'm near him, he fills me, his presence sliding through any walls I might try to put up, slowly and firmly pushing away any darkness in my heart. His eyes, his skin, his too-close yet too-far mouth are all that I can see, all that I can sense. My world is scented with clove and honey, and when I close my eyes, I can still see his.

There are so many ways that he's special, far too many to ever count. And plain, simple words can't ever explain him.

He's Elijah, and that's enough.


End file.
